


Carry On

by Clayla



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Car Accidents, Child Death, Child Loss, Connor - Freeform, Connor Styles-Tomlinson - Freeform, Darcy Styles-Tomlinson - Freeform, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Major Original Character(s), Married Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Original Character Death(s), Parent Death, Parent Harry, Parent Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:32:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5218046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clayla/pseuds/Clayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor didn't mean to do it.</p>
<p>Read the tags. If they are triggers, please don't read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry On

“I want ice-cream!”

“We’re getting ice-cream, love.” Louis turned in the passenger’s seat to face Darcy, who fidgeted impatiently with the strap of her seat belt. “Settle down, now, Connor has to concentrate.”

Connor could feel his dad send him an assuring grin, although he was too nervous to stray his eyes away from the road to check. Even though he had already driven on the road a few times since he’s gotten his permit, Connor still got a bit antsy every time his hands graced the leather steering wheel. It didn’t help that Darcy, being the nine year-old she was, couldn’t sit still even for a few minutes. 

Connor drove through the winding streets of their quiet neighborhood. It was a kind neighborhood to grow up in, with several street crossing signs for children, yards after yards of neatly trimmed green grass, and plenty of sturdy trees to climb. Level sidewalks bordered the side of the roads, holding the memories of plenty of scrapes and cuts as Connor learned to walk, run, and ride his bike. On lazy summer afternoons, Connor loved nothing more than to settle with a good book on the floor beneath his window, the gentle breeze bringing with it the distant hum of a neighbor’s lawn mower. 

Nowadays, however, Connor was finding he had less and less time for his favorite pastimes. School had just started back up after summer break, people were expecting him to get jobs, and with both his dads coming home from work late in the evening, Connor was responsible for taking care of Darcy in the meantime.

Connor took up the opportunity with no second thought when his dad offered to take them out for ice-cream. Connor then volunteered to drive, seeing the dark circles beneath his father’s eyes.

Connor tapped his index finger against the steering wheel as they waited at the stop sign. The turn from their neighborhood street towards the direction of the ice-cream shop was a difficult one, for there were two lanes going the opposite direction before the middle island. Cars whizzed by, although it was relatively slower day, considering that it was a Saturday. Normally Connor would have his father watch for a good opening while maneuvering this turn. However, with Louis preoccupied with Darcy in the back seat, Connor glanced both ways before accelerating forward and making a turn. 

There is a moment when Connor is turning into his lane that he is ready to smile in celebration of his little feat. That is before he may or may not have heard a panicked “Connor!” from his dad. That is before a solid hand flies before his chest as if some barrier of protection. That is before he feels his brain lurching in his head, his eyes swiveling and the world blurring, his whole body pushed with such a force against the car door, it makes him feel insignificant and helpless. 

The world’s noise becomes faded, as if Connor was submerged underwater. Yet, every single sound was too loud, clawing at Connor’s brain. There was the sickening crunch of metal, shattering glass, and screaming from the back seat. The odor of burning rubber attacked Connor’s senses. His body felt hot from his heart racing at a pace too quick for him to acknowledge. Pain suddenly sears through him, like the scorching pain of a burn from the stove after the initial icy touch. He breaths quickly and heavily, taking in more oxygen than he ever had in his life. 

Connor has imagined before what it must be like to die in a car crash. He expected a second of panic as a speeding car passed through his vision, before the world turned black. 

Reality wasn’t the same.

The world didn’t turn black for Connor. Instead, he was much more alive than he wanted to be. Pain throbbed through his head, and the world was beaming and bright. He felt as if he had the energy to run and escape, but yet he could not lift one finger. He thought he’d hear sirens in the distance, but there was nothing but the sound of panicked voices getting closer and closer. He willed the world to turn black, but everything was bright. He felt strapped to a table beneath a glaring white light as someone lit him on fire. 

The world felt like Hell. Perhaps dying would have been less painful and quicker. Seconds felt like hours, and Connor was beginning to wonder if the voices he heard earlier were real. 

A chill of relief washed through him when he heard the growing wail of sirens. The sound itself made half the pain cease into icy oblivion in the back of his mind. Suddenly, he became more aware of the presence, or rather lack of presence of the other occupants of the car.

“Help!” Connor cried. He is surprised by how quiet and weak his voice is, despite the fact that the sound came from within his own body, compared to everything around him. He feels the door he leans against budge. Right as the door gave way, a solid hand steadied him. 

“You’re going to be okay, son.” a deep voice floods Connor’s senses. Connor lets out a cry of relief. He truly needed to hear those words.

He feels pinches to sears of pain before he is removed from his seat and onto the stiff surface of a gunnery. He wants to scream at the paramedics to help, that there are still two other people in the car, but Connor’s mind is fogging to where he can’t remember the names of those who were with him. Letters blurred together, and Connor couldn’t think straight.

He felt the brightness of the sky fade away as he was wheeled into the cool darkness of the ambulance. With a deep breath, Connor sighed, and his muscles relaxed.

***

When Connor wakes up, it is to bright florescent lights and a steady beeping in a sterile hospital room. His jeans and shirt had all been cut away, and how he was draped in a white hospital gown, patterned with what looked like small pastel flowers.

He felt a surge of panic when he caught sight of the needle in his arm. His eyes widened and he went to take a gulp full of air, only to choke.

Voices swarmed the room as the tube down his throat was yanked out, leaving Connor to feel horribly invaded, but with air that felt fresher despite being dirtier.

“Would you like some water?” a warm voice ways somewhere. Connor nods fervently, despite the dull pounding ache in his head. Soon, a plastic straw is pressed to his chapped lips, as a cup of water is handed to him. The paper cup felt heavy and incredibly solid in his hands, and his arms felt as if they were about to give out. But, once the clear cold water penetrated his senses, the weight was worth the carry.

Everything in his mind began sorting out once again. He was in a hospital room. He was drinking water. He had an IV in his arm. He was awake.

Connor’s vision focused. 

The hospital room was rather small, with childish wallpaper on the wall near the ceiling. The counters surrounding two sides of the room held buckets full of all sorts of objects, from ear swabs to syringes. Odd, heavy machinery sat in a messy organization on the countertops. Each cabinet and drawer was labeled with white stickers, some of them with writing crossed out and rewritten. 

A nurse stood by his bed, watching him steadily. Connor had just noticed her, despite the fact the fact she had just given him water. The nurse looked to be in her late thirties or early forties, with a heart shaped face and jet black hair carefully tucked into a bun. She wore a pale blue scrub, and had a name tag reading “Janet” pinned to the chest. 

“Glad to see you awake.” The nurse said happily, although in a soothing voice that didn’t make Connor’s head worse. Connor let out a slight grunt in response that he hoped didn’t come across as rude. The nurse smiled, reassuring Connor.

“I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.” the nurse said, before exiting, closing the door with a solid click behind her.

Connor stared at the patterned flowers of his gown. His heart raced as his mind suddenly drifted to Louis and Darcy. He first felt a wave a panic before it was washed over with shame that somehow he had forgotten them until now. For pete’s sake, they were his family! How could Connor forget about them?  
Connor took a few deep breaths as his brain timidly prodded at the thought of his father and sister. God, his sister was only nine! She shouldn’t have to deal with anything like this. And Saturday was his father’s day off. Connor just had to crash his car on a Saturday. 

Minutes felt like hours as Connor slowly unraveled all the possibilities. He became so used to the idea that he felt eerily calm as he thought about the fact that part of his family might be dead.

_Dead,_ Connor internally chuckled. He thought something like death for him or someone else would be much more painful. Instead, the word just sat in his head, present, but not doing anything. It felt like a faulty explosive.

The door opened once again, this time entering an older woman, possibly approaching fifty, with graying brown hair and worn blue eyes. Wrinkles stretched across her face, yet she had a natural beauty to her, making her look serene. 

“Well, you’re awake.” She says in a voice much deeper than Connor expected. She pulled up a stool tucked beneath the doctor’s desk in the corner by Connor’s desk, sitting down. She was clothed in a white doctor’s coat, a stethoscope draped around her neck. 

“I’m Doctor Sanders. I’ll be asking you a few questions, is that alright?” Dr. Sanders asked, holding out a hand to shake. Connor nodded shaking her hand. Her hand was rather dry, and she had the settle scent of rose perfume. She smiled.

“Okay, now tell me your full name, please.” 

Connor cleared his throat.

“Connor Styles-Tomlinson.” he spoke. He winced at how scratchy it sounded. The doctor nodded.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” Connor paused, “I’ll be sixteen in a month.” he added, before mentally cursing himself. Why would the doctor care?

Nonetheless, the doctor smiled.

“Perfect. That pretty much answers when is your birthday. Now, Connor, can you tell me what date it is?” Dr. Sanders asked.

“September 19th?” Connor guessed. He was never one for remembering dates. 

“September 20th,” the doctor corrects, “you were asleep for the rest of the day after you arrived.” 

Dr. Sanders places her clipboard onto the desk and wheels closer to Connor’s bed. Even though she wasn’t touching him at all, it felt as if she was giving him a gentle hug.

“Now, Connor, would you like to discuss about what happened?” Dr. Sanders spoke. Connor hesitated.

“I… I crashed the car.” Connor stated. The fact resonated around the room, sounding more real than ever. “I didn’t see the car. My dad and my sister were with me.”

Dr. Sanders nodded. Connor continued, not entirely sure what to say.

“We… were getting ice-cream. My sister was fussing in the back seat.” Connor winced, feeling odd about saying something negative about his sister after he literally crashed their car. “Dad kept having to deal with her. There’s this turn to exit my neighborhood that’s kinda hard. Since Dad was busy, I just turned without his help.”

Connor’s throat constricted.

“I thought I did it f-for a moment, b-but then... “ Connor paused, his eyes perfectly dry but his heart falling heavily and a sob rising in his throat. “Everything hurt. And I didn’t make the turn.”

The room was filled with the buzz of silence as Connor stopped talking. A question burned on his lips, but he was too afraid to ask. It was like the night before Christmas, when Connor would feel a tinge of sadness knowing that the mystery and excitement of not knowing the contents of the wrapped presents would disappear tomorrow, even though knowing what was inside was what he wanted all along. He felt a similar feeling now, only with much more dread.

He swallowed.

“Is my dad and my sister okay?” Connor blurted, before he could talk himself out of asking. Dr. Sanders looked him in the eye, and dread curled in his gut. She moved even closer, holding Connor’s hand in her own. 

“I want to make sure you are fully stable before discussing anyone else.” Dr. Sanders stated. “Are you sure you are fully stable right now?” she asked. Connor nodded, heart thumping and echoing in his ears. Dr. Sanders nodded back, looking Connor in the eye.

“Your sister, Darcy, is in intensive care right now. We do not know her chances of survival as of yet.” Dr. Sanders said. Connor’s body washes with relief, knowing that Darcy was at least alive at the moment. Dr. Sanders paused, before speaking again.

“Your father passed away at the site of the accident.”

Connor let out a large breath he was surprised that he was holding. He thought he’d cry, scream, wail, or thrash like a madman, but instead, Connor just stared ahead. _His father was dead. Okay. His father was dead. Okay._

“Are you alright, Connor?” Dr. Sanders asked. Connor let out another shuddery breath.

“Is… is my other father here?” Connor asked. Dr. Sanders nodded.

“He’s in the waiting room. I’ll let him see you as soon as we wrap up.”

With that, Dr. Sanders checked his blood pressure, heartbeat, and took notes on a couple of numbers on his monitor. 

“If you need help, simply holler. Don’t be afraid to talk to anybody if you need to, okay?” Dr. Sanders patted his shoulder, which felt sore. Connor nodded yet again, feeling like a bobble head doll. Dr. Sanders smiled, and exited.

_Well,_ Connor thought, _Dad’s dead. Okay. Dad’s dead. Okay._

Moments later, the door creaks open, and Connor’s dad walks in.

Harry, despite his shame, had to admit to himself that in the moments before he walked through the door, had to repeat to himself _don’t be mad at him, don’t be mad at him._

Upon walking through the doorway and seeing Connor hooked up to the IV drips, arm in a sling, and various parts bandaged, Harry didn’t find it too hard to not be mad. Instead, he rushed over and enveloped Connor in a tight hug. It wasn’t a kind of hug where one person leaned on the other, or comforted the other. It was the kind of hug where both people hold to each other so tight it hurt, for it was the only way to not fall to pieces. When they pulled apart, Connor felt just a bit taller and stronger.

They shared a moment of silence. There wasn’t much to say. 

“It’s not your fault, Connor.” Harry said quietly. If he had raised his voice any louder, it may have come out as a sob. 

“Don’t lie, Papa.” Connor cast his eyes down to his hands. There was a cut by one of his knuckles, and a few scratches from the shattered glass. 

Harry did not reply, and Connor’s heart sank with each additional moment of silence.

***  
Darcy passes away two days later. It was a Monday. Darcy always hated Mondays.

Connor remembers the nurse bringing his father in. Harry’s face had been tear stricken and his figure hunched, as if wanting to disappear into himself. He had simply looked into Connor’s eyes and stated “Darcy passed away.”

Darcy’s death was a lot harder to stomach than his father’s. Connor expected his father to die within his lifetime. Although he didn’t expect it to happen so soon, he was much more prepared it than for Darcy’s death. He always imagined Darcy going to his own funeral when she was old and wrinkled. He never thought it would be the other way around. 

The police had come in soon after Harry left, asking him questions about the accident. Connor felt useless as he mumbled “I don’t know” again and again. The police officer had been rather kind, although still firm for answers. 

According to the officer, a car, driven by a father with three children in the back seat, had rammed into the passenger’s side of the Connor’s car when he was turning. According to the officer, Officer Payne, his father had painlessly died on impact. Somewhere in Connor’s mind, he already knew that. He could faintly remember warm blood splattered on his arm that was not his own, and the screaming silence in the seat beside him. When Connor asked if he could see his father, the police officer simply grimaced, and placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder.

“It’s best to remember him the way he was, Connor.” Officer Payne had said. Connor didn’t want to think too far into that.

Darcy, who had been sitting behind Louis, wasn’t directly hit by the car, but suffered much more injuries than Connor had from the impact. Her little body had lost a lot of blood, and many of her organs were damaged. It was simply too much, and her heart stopped beating.

Connor spent the rest of the day alone, save for frequent visits by the doting nurses to provide him food and company. He was feeling relatively worse than the day of the accident, with his body being sore and heavy as lead. The nurses said it was normal, however, and it meant that he was healing. Healing hurt a lot more than he expected.

Harry did come in again the next day. The incident was a bit awkward, with Harry sitting quietly by Connor’s bed, trying to comfort Connor yet seeming to need comfort himself. The whole time, Harry fidgeted with his wedding band, and Connor couldn’t help but want to snatch it off Harry’s finger and hurl it across the room. It was too large of a reminder of how Connor basically broke apart their family.

***

It was on Wednesday, two days after Darcy’s death, that Connor popped the question that had been hanging on his tongue for the past few days.

“Have you… seen Dad? And Darcy?” Connor kept his eyes low. Dad and Darcy felt strange on his tongue. His mouth hadn’t formed those two sounds in the past four days. 

Harry cleared his throat, something he rarely did but seemed to do all the time now, before speaking in a scratchy voice.

“Yes.” 

Connor hesitated, before continuing.

“Do you… do you think I should go seem them too?” 

Harry paused.

“Its up to you, son.”

Connor could not describe how good it felt to hear his father call him son. It wasn’t as if the accident had ripped Harry’s and Connor’s relationship to threads, but it felt nice to be reassured.

Connor decided to see Louis that afternoon. Doctor Sanders had looked at him seriously, but did not question him as she lead him down the spiraling hospital halls. They passed by several wings until they reached the quietest wing: the morgue. 

Dr. Sanders lead him into a room. A wave of chemicals hit Connor’s nose. He tried to stray his eyes anywhere, but in the end, his eyes landed inevitably in the center of the room, where there was a simple steel table and a body completely covered in a white sheet. Dr. Sanders slowly peeled away the sheet, and Connor stared at the face that belonged to his father.

Connor decided not to see Darcy that day. 

***

Connor goes home a two weeks later. 

It wasn’t until the moment he steps through the front door and inhales the scent of the dusty couches and shivers in the ringing of the silence that everything sinks in.

His father is dead. His sister is dead. He will never see them again.

While Conor thought the hospital was bad, the house was worse. Everything was frozen from the day of the accident. Darcy’s door upstairs by the stair banister was slightly ajar from when she ran out so quickly she forgot to close it. Louis’ cup of tea still sat at the kitchen table from where he had left it, still full. Darcy was so eager to get ice-cream that Louis never got the time to finish his tea.

It didn’t feel right to fix anything, but yet leaving everything there seemed wrong too. Darcy didn’t say she wanted her door closed and Louis never told Connor to dump out his tea, but it wasn’t as if they were coming back either.

Harry had shuffled to the kitchen to begin making dinner, and Connor tiptoed to the master bedroom in the meantime. He creaked the door open ajar, and was hit with his father’s scent. Louis always smelt of warmth and comfort with a hint of peaches. He remembers his father’s smell from when he was young and would bury his face into his father’s sweaters. Connor wanted nothing more than for Louis to burst through the door, arms wide, beaming at Connor to “bring it in, love.”

Connor wanted to be six again, back when his father could lift him up into the air and spin him around. He wanted wake up on an early Monday morning before the sun came up to stumble barefoot on cold tiles into the kitchen, where Louis would be hastily fumbling two hot slices of toast onto a plate, because that was all he really could cook. 

He wanted to hear Darcy pestering him for help in math, cause she just didn’t get fractions. He wanted her to knock down his collection of action figures and scribble doodles on his homework because “homework isn’t important.” He wanted her to pout, smile, and scream at him. 

But none of that would happen again. Connor knew that. He just wish he appreciated it more when it did.

***

 

Connor goes grocery shopping on Sunday with Harry. His dad talked the whole time during the car ride, but the words were empty and the atmosphere might as well have been silent. 

It felt strange to do something so normal in such an un-normal way.

At the grocery store, Connor felt a bit better. He was just a stranger amidst strangers. No one looked his way, and he didn’t look their way. It made his troubles feel insignificant, and that felt kinda good. 

Choosing what to buy was a bit confusing. At the cereal aisle, Connor still picked up the bright red box that contained the much too sugary cereal that Darcy liked, rather than choosing the corn flakes that Connor actually liked. At the milk section, Connor watched as Harry bought a carton of whole milk and 2%, even though Louis was the only one who drank 2% milk.

They really didn’t need half the things they bought, but it felt even more wrong to not buy them. In the days and weeks afterwards, the cereal sat on the shelf, uneaten. The milk disappeared mysteriously after it expired. 

***

The next week, there was two new cartons of milk in the fridge: whole, and 2%. 

Harry was out of the house for work, due to arrive back home in about three hours, which gave Connor plenty of time to get to work. Without wasting even a second of time, Connor dug out the kitchen cookbook, flipping through the dusty pages that were last opened last Christmas. The pages smelled of nutmeg and cinnamon.

By the time the garage started creaking open and Harry’s heavy footsteps approached the door, Connor was done. 

Harry opened the door.

“Oh, hey,” Harry greeted. There were dark bags under his eyes, and he barely cracked a smile. Connor didn’t falter.

“Hey Dad,” he said, watching as Harry dropped his bag by the door, and then paused, sniffing the air.

“Smells good in here,” he commented, before freezing as he saw the steaming dinner set out on the dinner table. 

Harry was silent.

“I made dinner,” Connor stated. Harry swallowed, clapping Connor on the back.

“Thanks.”

With that, Harry went to wash up as they both gathered at the dinner table. The other two chairs sat empty.

They talked over the food. Although it was hardly conversation compared to the rambunctious dinners they used to have, it was still more than what it has been in the past few days. When the plates began to clear, Connor went to the fridge, pulling out a plastic tub. Harry raised his eyebrow in curiosity.  
“I made dessert.” Connor set the tub onto the dinner table. “It’s ice-cream.”

Connor could hear Harry gulp, but smiled nonetheless. He opened the tub and scooped two scoops into each of their bowls.

“It’s mint chocolate chip,” Harry commented. Connor nodded. “Mint chocolate chip was your father’s favorite.”

Connor smiled, “and Darcy’s too.”

And they ate. It was quiet the first night, but Connor decided he would work on it. Every week, they bought a carton of 2% milk, and Connor would perfect his ice-cream, which Harry would taste test every Friday. As weeks passed, they talked more, smiled more, and laughed more. 

Things were getting better.

***

“Welcome to The Dreamy Creamery, how may I help you?” Connor grinned, clacking the ice-cream scooper in his hand cheerfully. The girl in front of him blushed, scanning the rows of ice-cream tubs behind the display case.

“Hard, isn’t it?” Connor nodded understandingly. “We’ve got caramel apple, spicy peach cobbler, honey ambrosia, banana cream-”

“I-uh, I’ll take the mint chocolate chip,” the girl said, pointing at the tub in the corner. She watched curiously as Connor’s eyes lit up.

“Ah, wise choice! You know, that one has been perfected over the years,” Connor chatted, as he scooped two scoops into a sugar cone. “It’s my favorite.”

“What’s so special?” the girl asked curiously. Connor grinned.

“Well, it’s a long story, and we don’t want your ice-cream to melt,” Connor said. The girl smiled. After that, she would come back every Friday, always ordering a new flavor, although mint chocolate chip remained her favorite. Each time, Connor grinned a little wider.

“You never did tell my why mint chocolate chip is your favorite,” the girl said. Connor touched her hand.

“Well, you’re a new reason,” he smirked, as the girl laughed. Then, his face grew serious.

“But, this flavor was my sister’s favorite,” Connor began, as the girl drew closer and listened.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a true story of someone I know. May his family rest in peace.


End file.
